


Of Love and Loss

by witchcraffft



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Death, Drabble, Gen, Grief, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 16:04:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16705534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchcraffft/pseuds/witchcraffft
Summary: And so Zelda laid there on the floor, wailing in grief until the tremors subsided enough for her to astral project. She knew the dangers of attempting this alone but she needed to see them. More than anything, she wanted to be wrong. Just this once. Especially on this one.





	Of Love and Loss

Zelda Spellman may be callous and cold but she is not without a heart. Every feeling travels through her whole being in waves, softly humming within her like radio static. And more often than not, they leave her wanting to dull it all away. For she deems it infinitely easier to deal with the nothingness than the incessant storms.

She was in Slovenia when it happened. She woke up at 2 in the afternoon, having slept off her hangover. Her lover from the previous night was moving around in the kitchen, making omelettes and Satan-knows-what. She was reading the newspaper, a cigarette was burning slowly in the holder clasped on her forefinger when she kneeled down in pain, dropped the paper on the floor and clutched at her chest, groaning.

“What’s wrong?” The lover suddenly asked, turning the stove off and rushing to her side.

She was shaking terribly, her face ultimately streaked with tears. “Leave! Now!”

“You need he-”

“I need you to _leave_!” She gritted through her teeth and he obeyed, grabbing his leather jacket on his way out.

Zelda wished she didn’t know this feeling, that she never did and never will again. A pain so great, she would much rather be dead.

•••

The bonds between the Spellman siblings were so tightly weaved that a loss manifests in each one differently. She remembered the day death first struck them like it was yesterday, the wound still so open that it hurts to even blow air on it: the second oldest sibling, Ambrose’s father, died from a stake to his heart in then-Transylvania after having been accused of being a vampire.

Zelda was in Conjuring class at the Academy of Unseen Arts and she just started wailing in extreme anguish. The other professors had to cast a spell to make her fall asleep so she wouldn’t be in such amount of pain. Much younger Hilda, on the other hand, was in Herbology class when she suddenly had a vision and began yelling “ _No_!” over and over again until the professor brought her back to reality.

The pair of sisters were later visited by their parents and found out that their older brother had died and that even little Edward cried so much in his crib.

•••

And so Zelda laid there on the floor, wailing in grief until the tremors subsided enough for her to astral project. She knew the dangers of attempting this alone but she needed to see them. More than anything, she wanted to be wrong. Just this once. Especially on this one.

She got up and placed the candles around her, lighting them up, laying down the middle, and citing the spell. She left her body in Ljubljana, Slovenia as her spirit traveled to Greendale.

“Hilda?!” She cried out as soon as she found herself in the home, “Hilda, where are you?”

She found her sister in the nursery, holding their newborn niece Sabrina close to her heart. Hilda turned to her with sad eyes and whispered, “Zelds...”

“What happened to Edward?!” She asks frantically, and tears started to stream down the blonde’s face, gently putting the babe down on her crib. “For Satan’s sake, Hilda!”

“They’re gone. I _saw_ them, Edward and Diana, they were—“ Hilda started to say but her words turned to sobs and soon, Zelda was sitting by her side, the redhead’s face dry but her lip trembling, fighting the urge to cry.

A psychopomp appeared by the window and Zelda stood up in front of Hilda, looking in her eyes with such firmness, “Gather yourself together, sister. This baby is our responsibility now.” Another psychopomp appeared. “I’ll be with you shortly.”

With that, Zelda was back in her body, gasping for breath. One second, she was panting, the next she was crying hysterically again.

She was curled up on the floor for she didn’t know how many hours. But when she finally got the strength to get up, she wiped away her tears, filled her suitcase, and walked into the night, back to her sister, back to her family, back to her rock.

Zelda Spellman knows the pain that comes as a result of love and loss—each one an open wound streaked across her back, blood rushing out, never fully healing—the pitiful consequence of being part divinity.

**Author's Note:**

> Very quickly written. Not proofread.  
> So sorry to everyone I hurt in my processing my feelings for Zelda. x


End file.
